


A Matter of Time

by KittyBandit



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 23:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16051085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyBandit/pseuds/KittyBandit
Summary: They shouldn’t have ‘ta make coffins that small, y’know?





	A Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

> And here is the second fic for my giveaway! This one was requested by dgmsinposts on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it!

_“They shouldn’t have ‘ta make coffins that small, y’know?”_

Tyki leaned against the siding of the rickety shack, old, worn paneling digging into his back unevenly. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, a puff of smoke curling into the chilled night air. The sky was clear and full of stars, but instead of finding comfort in that inky void above, all he found was uncertainty. Tipping his head back with a soft thunk, Tyki flicked the cigarette, ashes scattering to the dry earth under his feet. He’d only come back to visit by chance—taking a little break from familial duties and all that to see his old friends. But his reprieve from responsibilities turned into a nightmare before he could blink.

_“He was fine the day before it happened. Doc said his lungs finally just gave out.”_

One day. Tyki had missed it by one day.

He’d arrived after noon, hoping to grab a late lunch with everyone before bumming around town, but found himself at the funeral instead. It’d been nothing special, barely a soul attended besides Momo, Clark, and the priest. He’d caught them just before they’d left for the cemetery—and helped carry the casket when Momo had broken down again.

They’d lowered it down into the hole—too deep and dark—as the priest spoke his words. Heavy-handed spouting about God and Heaven had rung hollow in Tyki’s ears, grating, and he had watched silently through his thick glasses as the casket sat deep in the earth. He’d lost himself in his thoughts, watching the gravedigger shovel dirt into the hole. It wasn’t until Clark had tugged his shirtsleeve did he come back to his senses and followed them to the wake.

_“Should’ve seen it comin’. He was always so sickly.”_

Tyki had taken them out for drinks after—to distract them from it. To distract himself. They’d gone to the local bar, a favorite of theirs. They’d played poker and drank cheap liquor well into the night, well past a reasonable hour, until the bar closed its doors and kicked them out. And Tyki, not quite as drunk as his friends, had walked them back to their shack—their home—on unsteady legs. They were supposed to go to work tomorrow, after all, and needed rest. And when Clark and Momo had passed out, Tyki had to get some air.

_“Wished it was me instead.”_

Those words were dangerous—those words called the Millennium Earl to your door.

He took another drag from his cigarette and closed his eyes against the soft light of the moon. He’d spent the whole day and half the night trying to distract them from Eeze’s death, and though his hopes had been high, Tyki hadn’t missed the sadness in their eyes, the lack of light. They weren’t the same, and to be honest, neither was he.

Tyki was no stranger to death, and he’d had a hand in delivering enough souls to the reaper’s doorstep to put the devil to shame. He’d ripped out hearts and livers and lungs, drove men to their knees begging for mercy, and hadn’t hesitated in ending their lives. Humans, of course, were a blight on this world, and one that would do well to be eradicated sooner rather than later.

_But_ , a little voice in the back of his mind reminded him, _this was different_.

He knew them—they were his friends. Clark, Momo, Eeze… They’d been through Hell together, spent nights laughing and swindling rubes out of their money, worked their fingers to the bone for every scrap they’d been given. Tyki might have been a Noah—he might have sworn to kill every human on the face of the earth—but that shred of humanity still beating in his heart protested at the silencing of those he’d been closest to.

So, he’d tried—tried to ease their suffering at the loss of one so young, and tried to stifle the suffering in his own miserable heart. But there was only so much he could do—that _anyone_ could do—to help those in mourning. And if they mourned too loudly or too long, _he_ would come.

Tyki ran a hand through his disheveled hair, a smoke-filled sigh passing over his lips. He’d done what he could. All that was left to do was wait.

A breeze blew through the alley, ruffling his hair and kissing his cheeks with its cold touch. He stared up again, gaze on the moon. Its soft light burned his eyes. He lifted the cigarette to his lips, only to find it burned down to the filter. With a muffled curse, he flicked the butt to the ground and smothered the embers under his shoe. Grabbing the rumpled pack from his pocket, he pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it. As he took his first drag, the sound of footsteps caught his attention.

“ _Tyki_ ,” a familiar, sing-song voice called from the darkness. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He continued to lean back against the shack, cigarette between his fingers as he drew in another puff. “Just out for a smoke,” he said, keeping his eyes averted from the clownish form next to him. He ignored the clash of feelings in his chest—comfort and unease, melancholy and delight.

“Road was wondering where you’d run off to,” the Earl said, turning his ghoulish face towards the shack. “She wanted to bake cookies and thought you could help her.” Tyki had no doubt that the Earl could sense the sorrow emanating from it. He felt it, too.

With an exaggerated groan, Tyki stood straight and stretched his arms above his head. “Best be getting back then, eh?” He was surprised how even his voice sounded, how calm and collected.

“Go ahead without me. This shouldn’t take long,” the Earl said, slipping into the shed without a sound.

Tyki swallowed, throat tight and turned away. He walked towards the Ark door, hidden not a few feet away, footsteps echoing in the quiet night air. Pausing at the entryway, he held his breath and waited. The silence stretched on, and with each passing second, he felt his chest pinch tighter and his lungs burn from lack of air.

Finally, he heard it—the tell-tale sound of muffled screams and tearing flesh. It lasted a minute, maybe less, before the silence returned. Tyki let out a shuddered breath and closed his eyes, pulling off the thick glasses from his face and tucking them into his shirt pocket. He took a moment to clear his thoughts, and with one more breath—steady this time around—he brushed the messy hair away from his face, smiled, and stepped into the Ark.


End file.
